


darling, i could never live without you

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Bottom Harry, Chaptered, F/F, F/M, Getting Together, Growing Up, Happy Ending, Harry Styles - Freeform, Jealous Louis, Kid Fic, Liam Payne - Freeform, Louis Tomlinson - Freeform, Magic, Niall Horan - Freeform, Smut, Soulmates, Top Louis, Zayn Malik - Freeform, harry is very aware, larrie, larry - Freeform, larry stylinson - Freeform, louis doesn’t know he’s gay, lourrie, lourry, one direction - Freeform, ten years
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-24
Updated: 2017-09-24
Packaged: 2019-01-04 22:33:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12177813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: a larry stylinson fic where louis is blissfully unaware, harry’s so aware it’s all he can think about, zayn is the ultimate matchmaker, niall eats enough for all of them, and liam just really wants to get through school.also featuring: ed sheeran as the musical child prodigy, nick grimshaw as louis’ worst enemy, lots of magicy soulmate stuff, the school au i always wanted to write and/or read, zayn and perrie as everyone’s couple goals, louis ignoring harry cus he’s not gay





	darling, i could never live without you

**Author's Note:**

> hey guys xx
> 
> firstly i want to say that i’ve tried to write this fic so so many times and it’s been in my notes app for so long it’s been driving me insane. i tried to do it on wattpad but i’m just an ao3 girl!
> 
> hopefully y’all like this, if you don’t, stop reading please instead of leaving your opinion down below (if it’s rude. if it isn’t rude, leave it! if it’s helpful critisicm, leave it! i wanna know what you think. unless it’s rude ;) x). 
> 
> i also wanna say of course i don’t own any of the places, people or events in this story. one direction aren’t mine, neither are any of the other characters, or the locations/settings or holidays etc. the opinions in this story (eg, who tops ;)) are mine. don’t hate me for them.
> 
> enjoy xxx

;

harry styles is seven years old, and he hates it just as much as a seven year old can hate anything.

he might be young, but he isn't _stupid_. he knows that gemma gets to stay up later than him even though his mum denies it each time he asks. when she always gets extra potatoes at tea, harry will ask why he can't get another potato ("i'm just the favourite child, haz) and his mum just ruffles his hair and tells him when he's gemma's age he can have as many potatoes as he wants. when she turned eleven, gemma got her first phone, which she is never without, always playing that one game that harry loves or paying more attention to her friends than she does her brother. harry is also very aware of how gemma gets to go down to the park on their road to play with her friends, when harry has to make do with having his friends over in his back garden.

it's nearing the end of the summer holidays when harry's life changes (as much as a seven year old's life can change, anyway). he lives in england, meaning that the two months of sun they get every year has ended and it's now cold and usually rainy outside. since it's cold and rainy, harry is left inside his house with nothing really to do except bug gemma and pet his cat, dusty. dusty seems to have the same problem as him, not wanting to leave the house and get wet. harry wouldn't mind getting a bit rained on, he's just bored.

"mum," he whines, after watching the heavy wind blow the trees around outside for about five minutes, "i'm _bored_."

"ask ed to hang out," anne suggests, folding a pair of jeans and putting them on top of an identical pair of jeans. harry hates being as young as he is, but he thinks he would hate to be a grown up more.

"ed's in france," harry replies. he's pretty sure that they've had this conversation before, but he makes the point anyway.

"what about niall?"

"visiting his grandma," harry says with a drawn out sigh, "who lives in ireland. s'very far away."

"ireland isn't that far away, love," anne says, picking up a shirt.

"can i go visit him, then?" harry asks, peeking up a bit. "i don't think niall's grandma would mind, she's very nice."

"maybe another day," anne tells him, with a little smile that harry doesn't understand. if ireland isn't that far away, surely his mum could just drop him round there?

"okay," he says, almost content. "can i do something round the house?"

"like what?"

"i could help you with the ironing," harry replies. he likes helping his mum out around the house. it makes her happy and sometimes he'll even get a pound from it.

today though, anne laughs. "you're too little to do ironing, hazza."

the words that seven year old harry hates. too little. he hates them as much as he loves making his mum smile, and he loves that more than anything else. he looks at the shirt that his mum just put atop the jeans. "i could fold the clothes up for you."

"your fingers are too fat, love."

harry pouts. his pout always gets him stuff.

"stop pouting at me," anne laughs, poking his cheek where his dimple usually is.

at that moment, there's the sound of pattering feet on the stairs (which robin always says sounds like a herd of elephants but sounds more like a rainstorm to harry), and gemma's head appears round the banister. she has a big smile on her face, but it doesn't reach her eyes and harry recognises it immediately. it's her 'i want something' smile. the styles-cox siblings have different methods, but they have the same aim.

anne recognises it too, apparently. "yes, gemma?"

"that's a nice shirt," gemma comments, stepping round the corner of the stairs and appears in front of them. "where'd you get it from?"

their mum raises an eyebrow. gemma sighs. "olivia just texted me saying that she has something to show me and can i go down to the park to see it?"

"what does she have to show you?" anne asks, going back to her ironing. "is it so important that you have to go out in gale-force winds when it's almost tea time?"

gemma looks around, as if she's about to tell them some important secret. harry feels a bit warm at the thought. gemma doesn't usually tell him secrets anymore, so when she does it always makes his day. "her hair changed colour again," she says hurriedly. "her fringe is blue!"

olivia is brought up quite a lot in harry's house, mainly by gemma about her rapidly changing hair colour. she got her skill about two months ago and nobody's quite sure what it's meant to show, all harry knows is that every now and then gemma will tell them all about how her ponytail is green or her scalp is hot pink. harry thinks he would love to have colour-changing hair, but gemma only frowns and says she hopes hers is something more meaningful than something you can get done at a hairdressers.

anne chuckles. "okay then, love. make sure you're back by half six. i'm cooking chicken."

the and potatoes goes unsaid.

"i wanna see olivia's blue fringe!" harry exclaims as gemma moves to put her shoes on.

"no you don't, harry," gemma tells him. harry's pretty sure he knows what he wants.

"yes, i do!"

"no, you _don't_ ," gemma says, louder. "she's my friend, not yours."

" _mum_ ," harry says, "tell gemma i can go with her! i don't care about olivia, i just want to go out!"

"that's not what you were saying a minutes ago," gemma says, with a smirk.

"shut up, gemma," harry says.

"good comeback, little bro."

"gemma, don't be mean," their mum says, rolling her eyes. "harry, if you put your coat on you can go with her."

"does he have to?"

"none of that, young lady, or you'll be the one not going out," anne says, pointing a finger.

gemma lets out a noise like a dying cat and glares at harry as he puts his coat on (it's his favourite one, bright blue and puffy. he really wants to impress whoever's at the park) and does his shoes. the glare lasts until they're out of the door and the wind is snapping through harry's hair and forcing him to squint.

"maybe that's your skill," harry shouts, struggling to be heard over the howling wind.

gemma's head goes up before harry's even taken a breath. it's no secret gemma is desperately waiting for her skill. "what?"

"death by glaring," harry says with a grin, and what a surprise. the glare is back.

"you're my worst brother."

"i'm your only brother."

gemma doesn't speak again, only keeps walking at a pace that harry is having a lot of trouble keeping up with. he isn't the tallest of seven year olds and gemma is a whole four years worth of longer legs than him, after all, so it's not his fault. he ends up half-jogging after her to reach the park, and at the speed they're going, they get there quicker than harry had expected.

when they actually get to the park, gemma taps him on the shoulder as a goodbye and heads off to find olivia (whose hair is indeed blue, almost like harry's coat, just not as pretty). harry all of a sudden feels a weird mix of excitement and loneliness bubble in his tummy, and heads over to the play equipment to try and make a friend.

he doesn't even notice someone's lying on the floor until he trips over them and and lands on their legs.

"oops," he says simply, with wide eyes. the boy he's landed on his very pretty, and harry knows he isn't supposed to call boys pretty, it's just a bit hard not to with this particular boy. he looks a bit older than harry, with spiky brown hair and a bright red football shirt on. harry doesn't really care for football, but he does care about the fact that the boy's eyes are possibly the prettiest shade of blue harry's ever seen.

"hi," the boy says, and his voice his high. very high. higher than any other boy he's ever heard speak before. "could you please get off my legs? you're kind of heavy, curly."

"oh," harry says. curly. he scrambles to get off the boy, slowly turning some shade of pink, and sits down on the floor next to him. "'m not curly. 'm harry."

"right," the boy says, nodding. "harold."

"harry."

the boy's serious face breaks and turns into a smirk so wide his eyes turn to slits. "harold."

"nobody's ever called me harold before," harry says, moving to lie down. "s'weird."

"it's not weird," the boy says, "just different."

"is there a difference?" harry asks.

the boy doesn't reply, just moves his head back so he's staring at the endless grey above. "can i lie with you?" harry asks, although he's already lying. "my sister's gone with her friend who has blue hair. s'a bit like your hair."

"you don't need permission, harold, it's a public space," the boy says, smirking again. it's something else, harry thinks, absently. "you like my eyes?"

harry turns his head so that their noses are almost touching. he should move. he doesn't want to. he can't see anything, just a blur of skin and blue. he moves. "yeah. they're blue."

"why'd you move?"

"you were blurry."

"don't care," the boy says. "come here."

harry sighs and shuffles back so the sides of their arms are just touching. "'m back."

they sit in silence for a while, and harry's about to drift asleep, the comforting sound of the birds and the wind in the trees and this pretty boy's breathing all mixed in together. he thinks that maybe he could lie like this forever, but he's seven, and he doesn't even know the meaning of forever.

"is your sister always grumpy?"

harry frowns. "that's a bit rude."

"sorry!" the boy says, quickly. he starts playing with the drawstrings on his jogging bottoms. harry recognises it as a sign of nerves. he does it too. "i didn't mean to upset you, it's just that i see her come here a lot with that girl with the colourful hair and she always looks grumpy, nothing against grumpy people, she might have a good reason, i just wanted to ask because she always looks sad and i hate people looking sad!"

harry just blinks. he really has no idea what just came out of the boy's mouth, all he knows is that the boy's still twitching nervously and he's never heard anyone talk so fast. "it's fine."

"is it?" the boy asks, wide-eyed.

"yeah," harry says. "i don't know why she's grumpy. she's just like that."

"is she a teenager?"

"no. she's only eleven."

"how old are you?" the boy asks. harry's a bit caught up between stranger danger and pretty blue eyes.

"seven," harry answers after a bit. "you?"

"older than you?"

"as old as gemma?" harry asks, pouting.

the boy laughs and pokes harry's cheek just like his mum does. his dimple reappears. "no, only a little bit older than you."

"do you have your skill?" harry asks, a bit breathless.

"not yet," the boys says, and the way he looks at harry is similar to the way his mum does. "i'm sure it's gonna be something really cool though - like reading minds!"

"that's unfair on everyone else though," harry says, pouting. "you can't. my friend niall's dad's skill is that he doesn't get weird when he's drunk."

"that's rubbish."

"he's a very nice man," harry says quickly. "he just isn't very fun when he's drunk."

this time they really don't talk again, and the comfortable feeling comes back to harry again, the wind in his hair (or maybe that's the boy's fingers) and the sun peeking out from a cloud somewhere. he goes into and out of sleeps only awoken by a sharp tug of his hair or the wind slapping him. harry doesn't really have time to consider how strange this is, that he already feels so at home with this boy who hasn't even told harry his name. he knows if his mum was here he'd be in trouble.

"harry?" it's a familiar voice that wakes him up for the last time, gemma shouting across the playground. "c'mon, we're leaving!"

she's leaving the park already, not bothering to hold the gate open for him. not very surprising. harry stands up and wipes the gravel off his trousers. he looks to the beautiful boy still laid out on the floor.

"bye, curly," he says with a little smile.

"bye," harry says, unable to return it.

he leaves before he can convince himself to say anything else.

;

"did you both have a fun time at the park?" anne asks over their tea that evening.

harry looks down at his potatoes. he has still has one less than gemma. one step at a time, he supposes. "yeah."

"it was so cool!" gemma says, with a small grin that harry doesn’t fully understand. "olivia's hair is bright blue!"

"yeah?," anne asks with a chuckle.

"like, more blue than harry's coat," gemma adds.

"i like my blue coat," harry says, pouting.

"stop pouting over your food," anne says. "and your coat's very blue, hazza."

harry stops pouting.

"i want blue hair," gemma announces. "mum, is it okay if i dye my hair blue?"

"no," anne replies, cutting up her chicken.

"can i dye my hair blue?" harry says. "i want it like a certain blue though, not as dark blue as my coat but like a clear blue."

"seen something you like, haz?" gemma asks, smirking.

"don't smirk," harry says. all he can see is the mysterious park boy's smirk. "and no."

gemma just raises an eyebrow and bites into the extra potato that she has. harry glares at her (or the potato, he can't really tell anymore).

"nobody's dying their hair blue," anne says.

gemma groans. "what about if it's only like light blue?"

"no," anne replies.

harry pouts again. "but light blue's my favourite, why can't i have light blue?"

"it would ruin your curls, haz," anne says.

"why do you like light blue so much, harry?" his sister (or the devil, he isn't really sure there's a difference anymore) asks with a grin.

"i don't," harry replies, then frowns. "wait. no, i do, i just- there's not a reason."

gemma just laughs.

"moving on," anne says, confusion lacing her voice. "what did you do at the park, haz? didn't get bored?"

"no," harry says. "i was fine."

"he made a _friend_ , didn't you harry?" gemma says. definitely the devil.

"you made a friend?" anne says, putting her fork down. "is he starting the same year as you? is he nice?"

"he's not my friend," harry says petulantly. he wishes he was his friend. "and probably not. he says he's older than me."

"how old, exactly?" anne asks.

"not as old as gemma," harry replies. "he hasn't got his skill yet."

"i hope you don't go around asking people about that, harry," anne says, and it sounds like she's telling him off, so he shrinks a bit.

"no," he replies quietly.

"good," anne says.

the conversation moves on. harry doesn’t.

;

the boy with blue eyes don’t show up at the park again. harry comes up with a different excuse everyday, and everyday he comes back with a frown. gemma knows what’s up. then again, she is the devil. of course she does.

;

harry starts school the next day. as one of the youngest out of a lot of people, he feels like he's under inspection every time he turns a corner, holding onto niall's jumper sleeve like his life is on the line. it's fine for him. niall makes friends like it's as easy as breathing, because he's funny and everyone likes someone funny. ed has it easy too, because he's just plain nice and isn't afraid of introducing himself to people. harry is a bit in the background, smiling shyly when he's looked at or asked about. class is nice enough, if only a bit boring, but harry's favourite part by far is break, when him and ed and niall invite one of the class prefects to sit with them and he accepts.

"so, liam," niall says, previously calling himself a detective and this boy (liam) his subject. "what's football team d'ya support?"

liam blinks. "um, probably wolverhampton, i'm not really a fan of football, but that's where i was born so that's probably it."

harry grins. "i like you, liam. me and you can be the people who don't play football."

"yeah," ed says with a laugh. "harry's awful at football."

"am not!" harry exclaims.

"are too!" niall says.

"am not!" harry argues, grinning.

"it doesn't really matter!" liam says, slightly worried. "let's do something else."

"like what?" harry asks, wide-eyed.

"truth or dare!" niall says.

"i don't like truth or dare," harry mutters. last time they played truth or dare gemma made him lick a slug.

"just for that, harry," ed says. "you can go first."

"truth or dare, harry?" liam asks, smiling.

liam seems nice. he picks dare.

liam isn’t nice.

"go and sit on that bench by yourself for five minutes," liam says, and that seems to please ed and niall as they don't argue.

harry sighs. "you're all mean."

"and you, mate," niall says.

harry sighs again, and stands up off the corner of the playground that they were all sat on. the bench in question is all the way on the other side of the playground by the field, where the older kids were playing football. he's deathly terrified of the older kids, but he knows niall would never forget if he backed down, and he really wants to impress liam, so he heads over to the bench.

he sits there for what might be a minute, trying his best to ignore the shouts from the boys on the field. they probably aren't aimed at him, but they scare him anyway. he's doing a pretty good job of it, until he senses one of them heading over to the bench to get the ball that's been kicked over to him. maybe if he stays still they'll go away.

the boy picks up the football, throws it back to his friends on the field, then _comes back to sit next to harry_. harry doesn't look over. he has no idea who's sat next to him, just keeps staring ahead and lets the boy wait. he can just imagine niall's laughter at this. he can't wait to give them all dares worse than this.

"hey," the boy says, and harry recognises that voice from somewhere, but he's too busy trying to cry or run off that he stays still and doesn't respond, let alone try to figure out where he remembers that accent from.

"um. mate? are you okay?" the boy asks now, reaching a tentative hand out to shake harry's shoulder. without looking over, harry jerks his shoulder away. his mum always said not to let strangers touch you, even though this boy probably isn't much of a threat to him.

the boy winces a bit and puts his hand back in his lap, looks away, then looks back again. he sighs, a long, upsetting sound, and gets off the bench. harry thinks for a second he's gone and almost moves to go back to his friends, but then the next thing he knows the boy is kneeling on the floor in front of him, directly in his view.

"harold?" the boy asks, and _oh_.

blue eyes. blue, blue eyes and harry's blue coat and harry is so _dumb_ sometimes. he blinks a few times, focusses on the face he recognises now, and stands up. and sits down.

the boy frowns a bit. "you alright, h?"

"h-h?”.

"what?"

"you called me h," harry says. "do i get a new name every time you see me?"

the boy grins a bit, and then sits back on his heels. "yeah, sure. harold, h, curly harry."

"that's what you have so far," harry says. "more than i have."

the boy frowns a bit. "louis," he says.

"hm?"

"my name. it's louis."

"suits you," harry says, before he can stop it. he immediately goes red, he knows.

louis just grins. "thank you, harold. now if you're sure you're okay and not about to have some kind of breakdown on me-"

"oh!" harry practically shouts. "no! i'm fine, it's a dare, my friends are over there!"

louis' face falls, for some reason harry doesn't know. all harry does know is that he hates that look on louis' face, and he frowns. "stop pouting, it doesn’t suit you. only suits me."

"and lou does suit me?" louis says, still frowning a bit.

harry can hear ed yelling for him to come back, and stands up to go. "yeah, it does. like your eyes! blue lou!"

he runs off to a sharp burst of laughter behind him, which he takes as a good sign.

;

harry thinks that bedtime is his favourite time, when he gets to sit by his window and look out and read. he's knows that gemma is with his mum and dad watching telly still but sometimes he'd just rather sit here and relax. he likes to sing as well, even though he doesn't know many songs so it's usually gemma's favourites or irish folk songs, and his mum has always said he's a good singer so he sings out of his window to what he hopes are listening neighbours and the birds in the trees.

tonight it's some irish song that niall's dad was humming as he drove them home from school, and although he doesn't know all the words it's not stopping harry from singing the same two verses that he does know over and over again.

he's starting to get tired and is deciding whether to go in and do his homework or just read, until someone yells at him from the open window of the house next door.

"harold, you have a lovely voice 'n all but if you want to sing that bad, learn more of the lyrics?"

he whips his head around to the house to his left and surely enough, louis is there, a grin on his face and no top on. harry frowns.

"are you stalking me?"

louis' grin falters. "yes, harry, i am. i don't know your surname or your age-"

"you know my age," harry interrupts. "i told you that day at the park."

"so you did," louis murmurs. "good memory."

harry's head is starting to hurt from keeping it held out of the window like he is. "why are you in that house?"

"because... it's my house?"

"no it's not," harry says.

"yeah, it is."

"i've never seen you before a week ago," harry says. "i've lived here seven whole years, i think i'd remember you."

"by my eyes?"

"stop distracting me," harry says, and pouts.

"sorry," louis says, not sounding very sorry. “continue."

"since when have you lived there?" at least harry thinks that's what he was saying.

"i moved before the holidays," louis replies.

"i thought an old lady lived there."

"pretty sure she died, mate."

"oh," harry says, shuddering. celia was nice. she used to bake cookies with harry, and let him go round and talk to her dog. "what happened to her dog?"

louis laughs. "i don't know. we don't have it."

"oh."

it's silent for a bit, but apparently louis doesn't know how to do silent.

"hey h?"

"yeah, lou?"

"tomorrow night, meet me out here and we can have a proper talk without you looking like your head's about to fall off."

"it does hurt," harry says.

"yeah okay," louis replies. "deal?"

"meet you where exactly?" harry asks. he's a bit confused.

"we can sit on my garage roof." louis points down at the garage at the side of his house, which harry could easily get to just by climbing through his window. it looks a bit flimsy. "it won't break, promise."

"okay then," harry agrees.

harry would agree to anything louis said right now.

;

the next day, liam doesn't suggest truth or dare, and harry feels a rush of something like relief as he says they should stay inside so he can show them a book he just read. niall and ed aren't that bothered with reading, so they go outside and go on the equipment, but harry is eager to agree for multiple reasons.

"it's _thrilling_ ," liam says as they enter the library at lunch.

"what's it about?" harry asks, scanning all the different shelves with interest. he's never had the chance to go in here before, and he can't see a future where he will again.

"this girl whose skill leads her to her soulmate," liam says in a whisper. "it's so cute! it's really funny too because her eyebrows change colour when she sees her soulmate and she has no idea obviously because you can't see your own eyebrows, but everyone else can see except they don't know why her eyebrows are suddenly pink and eventually she realises!"

"do you believe in soulmates?" harry asks.

"i don't know," liam says. "i'd like to."

"yeah," harry says. "me too."

;

that night, the football's on. harry doesn't care about football - not only is he rubbish at it, and hates that other people can be so good, but he also just doesn't see the excitement in watching men kick a ball around. but robin's a big fan, and is also determined that harry and gemma share his interest, so that night while his mum goes on facebook or something, the three of them sit down and watch the football.

"i'm confused," harry says halfway through.

"it's pretty simple," gemma says, rolling her eyes. “they're literally just kicking a ball into a goal."

"you're wrong, gemma!" robin says, taking a drink of his beer. "football is more than just kicking a ball into a goal. it's teamwork and rivalry and perseverance! harry, get into it. pretend you are one of the footballers!"

harry doesn't know what half of the words robin just said were, but he nods and chooses one of the footballers to be. he chooses the one with a short mop of brown hair and tattoos, but the life he creates as the footballer is much better than just kicking a ball around a muddy pitch. it's a whole life, the life harry has always wanted, with kids and a home and a thousand cats. but his wife is faceless. just as well, harry thinks. having a wife means kissing, and kissing is gross.

when the football finally finishes and robin lets them go, it's a half hour past the time harry goes to bed usually. he trudges upstairs with tired eyes, thoughts preoccupied with the spellings he got from school and living as a rich footballer, and gets into his pyjamas. what is most of the time his favourite part of the day, is now just him waiting to fall asleep. he's exhausted, and he goes to shut the window straight away instead of staring out of it for a bit.

there's someone sat on the neighbour's garage between the two houses, knees pulled up to their chin and rubbing their eyes.

"louis?"

the boy looks up, wide eyed, and as soon as he sees harry peering out of his window, his whole face lights up with a grin and he jumps up.

"harry!" he exclaims. "i thought you'd forgotten or something."

when harry doesn't answer, his face falls.

"h?"

"yeah, of course not," harry replies quickly, and he's never been a good liar or particularly liked lying, but the look on louis' face is heartbreaking and harry wants it gone. he also feels like the meanest boy on earth. they made a deal and as louis was out here in the cold waiting for him, he had been downstairs watching a sport he didn't even like. "my step-dad was just making me watch the football with him."

"i love football!" louis says with a grin as harry climbs through the window. "i support donny rovers, y'see, i'm from doncaster so me and my step-dad always go watch the matches!"

harry hums as a way of letting louis know he had heard him, more focussed on not falling to his death. maybe not his death, but it would hurt a bit, and he'd be in a lot of trouble.

"jump," louis calls out, all of a sudden not talking about football anymore and there on the edge of the garage holding his arms out. "i'll catch you."

"no you won't," harry says with a pout. "i'm way too heavy for you to catch."

louis squints up at him. "are you calling me weak? because i'll have you know i'm the most strong boy in my year."

"promise?"

"pinky promise."

so harry screws up his face, shuts his eyes, and leaps off his windowsill. louis, in fact, doesn't catch him, but he does stop harry from touching the roof.

"oops?" harry says.

"hi," louis replies flatly. "again. can you please get off, i think you've killed me."

harry rolls off, laying on his back on the garage and staring right up at the clear night sky. "told you i was heavy."

"you're not heavy, h," louis replies quietly. "i'm just a bit weak."

harry doesn't really know what to say to that, so as the silly seven-year-old he is he just keeps his mouth shut and nudges closer to louis.

"let's talk," louis says. "i don't like silence."

"okay then," harry replies.

"let's do a game i did with my friend stan when i met him," louis says. "one of us asks a question and we both have to answer it."

"okay."

"what's your second name?"

"styles," harry replies. "my mum's surname is cox though."

"curly harry styles," louis muses, and harry liked the way his name sounds in his accent. "sounds like a popstar name."

"what about you?"

"tomlinson," louis says. "or you can be annoying and call me louis troy austin, but i don't like that, so please don't."

harry frowns. "okay. middle name?"

"william."

"better than troy," harry says, and he doesn't know if it's true but it's worth it for the way louis' entire face lights up. "mine's edward."

"posh, innit?"

"i guess."

"when's your birthday?"

"february first," harry says, watching the moon as it appears from behind a tree when he shifts his head. "yours?"

"don't laugh," louis says.

"of course not," harry says, offended. "s'just a birthday. how funny can it be?"

"christmas eve?" louis says, and it sounds more like a question than an answer.

harry doesn't laugh. "do you get two lots of presents?"

"no," louis says, and he sounds so adorably grumpy that harry does laugh. louis sits upright all of a sudden. "you said you wouldn't laugh!"

"i- i wasn't laughing at you, s'just- i," harry tries, the words not coming out. louis is already up and leaving, and harry scrambles to his feet. "i- lou, please, i didn't mean to- to offend you-"

the window slams shut.

harry doesn't sleep that night.

;

the next morning, harry is woken up by someone repeatedly throwing something at his window.

it's louis, throwing rocks. it vaguely reminds him of a fairytale that he overheard his mum reading to gemma one night, but he pushes the thought away because that would make him the princess, and boys can’t be princesses, right?

"you could break the glass," is the first thing he says after opening up.

louis looks up at him, all blue eyes and pink lips, and seven year old harry thinks that louis is one of the prettiest boys he's ever met.

"i'm sorry for last night," harry says then, when he realises louis has woken him up, at an earlier time than he wakes up when he has school, just to make harry apologise to him.

"good," louis says. "can i come in?"

louis comes in anyway, not listening to harry's protests - frankly, they're weak because who's he kidding, harry would say yes to louis if he asked him to bury a body. it's only when they're laying on harry's bed together, not touching and just staring at the glow in the dark stars, that louis speaks again.

"h?"

"yeah, lou?"

"i'm sorry too."

"it's okay."

"-but i'm not as sorry as you are, right?"

harry rolls his eyes. "right, lou."

"was that _sarcasm_?" louis asks, his voice a bit higher than usual.

"no," harry says with a laugh.

"hey, harold?" louis asks, after a pause. harry just turns over to look at him in response. "we're like, best friends, right?"

harry thinks about niall, and ed, and liam, and then thinks that he wouldn't bury a body for any of them. "yeah, lou. best friends."

it turns out, that never really changes.

;

the next day at school, harry and niall and liam and ed are all sat on the side of the football field. niall is talking about how much he wants to grow up and play football (with _louis, louis, louis_ ). ed has a song stuck in his head, and he’s teaching the words and tune to liam, their voices blending together. harry doesn’t know the name of the song, but it’s stuck in his head as well. it’ll probably be the song he sings tonight (to _louis, louis, louis_ ). he’s happy with just watching the football players, and cheering when louis scores, which he does a lot. it doesn’t help that every time he gets the ball in the goal he runs right past harry, hand out for a high five.

“do you know him, harry?” liam asks after louis scores three (a hat-trick, louis had been yelling) and comes past louder than before.

“i’d hope so,” niall laughs. “he’s been round like five times.”

“three,” harry says, correcting him. three pairs of eyes shoot round to look at him, and he blushes. “he was yelling hat-trick. that’s three.”

“whatever,” niall says.

“do you know him?” liam asks.

“yeah,” harry replies. “he’s my neighbour.”

“he does know you, right?” niall asks, smirking. “it looks a bit like you’re creepily stalking him or something.”

harry blushes again. ed takes pity on him, and wraps the arm that isn’t holding a chocolate bar round harry’s shoulders. “don’t be rude, ni,” ed says. “you want my chocolate? i’m not hungry.”

at that moment, louis appears in the corner of harry’s eye, and he’s stood right next to liam. he looks exhausted, but he’s somehow still as pretty as the night before. his forehead is sweaty and his hair’s messed up, but his eyes are shining and he’s somehow glowing. harry can’t look away.

“back again?” niall says.

“niall!” ed exclaims. “i even gave you my chocolate!”

“where’d that go, anyway?” liam asks.

“niall’s a human hoover,” ed tells him, not moving his arm.

harry doesn’t look away from louis, who grins brightly but doesn’t look away from ed’s arm.

“did you score again?” harry asks, suddenly worried that he’s missed another goal. “i’m sorry, i was paying attention, i just-“

“chill it,” louis says, winking. “i didn’t score again. could’ve though. just came to see how my best buddy’s doing.”

“i’m great, thanks,” niall says, nudging louis’ shoulder.

harry’s stomach bursts into flames, and louis just rolls his eyes and sits down. “mind moving?” he asks ed, who shrugs and shuffles back over to liam.

louis is instantly pressed up against him, and the fire inside harry isn’t going anywhere. louis stinks, smells just how gemma always complains that harry does after he comes back from school, but he can’t find it in himself to complain, not with the attention that he’s getting.

“gunna introduce me?” louis says in his ear, and harry goes red again.

“lou, this is niall, ed and liam,” he says, stumbling over the words. “guys, this is louis.”

“how old are you?” liam says, wide eyed. harry thinks maybe liam is just as scared as him of big kids.

“‘m eight,” louis says, with a proud grin, and harry adds that to his box of louis in his brain. “much older than all of you.”

“yeah,” liam says.

“no,” niall argues. “you’re only a year older than me. you can’t boss us around.”

“yeah!” ed says.

harry goes even redder than before, and he doesn’t even know why.

“calm it,” louis says. “i’m not trying to boss you around. maybe a little bit. but only if you play footie with me.”

“i love footie!” niall almost shouts.

“me too!” ed says.

louis looks to harry. “i’m kinda bad at football,” harry admits, looking down. this is the part where louis realises how embarrassing he is and goes back to hanging out with older kids.

“he is,” ed agrees, shrugging.

“oi, oi,” louis says, wrapping his arm round harry’s waist. the fire is suddenly outside his body, and harry doesn’t know the number for the firemen. he bets gemma has it on her phone. “leave harold alone. we can teach you, yeah?”

“okay,” harry mumbles, and he can hear niall make a comment on _harold_ , but the bell goes before he can explain it.

louis’ arm is gone much too fast.

**Author's Note:**

> in this chapter:
> 
> harry- 7  
> louis- 8
> 
> title from james arthur, safe inside. a very, very larry song - you wanna check it out, i highly recommend you do.
> 
> tumblr: chemicalsthatmakeherlaugh  
> wattpad: sometimesheartbroken


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